


Playing strangers

by JoCarthage



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Role Playing, minor Liz/Max, past Forrest/Alex, past Maria/Michael - Freeform, under-negotiated role playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27259294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: Alex sees Michael ahead of him in line at Planet 7 and asks if he wants to "play stranger." Post S2, Michael and Alex pretend to get to know each other for the first time.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 54
Kudos: 160





	Playing strangers

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be one of my phone banking accountability fics, but it got too long.
> 
> I feel like I should say -- a lot of times I write these two as preternaturally self-aware and good at communication. This is not one of those fics. I think it's a bit more naturalistic? Or I'm just in a funny mood. Anyway, they'll be a little murkier than usual at times.

Alex saw a flash of curls ahead of him in the sidewalk line at Planet 7. There were only a few hipsters in the oh-so-ironic red hats between him and a group who he now realized were Liz and Max and Isobel. And Michael. Kyle had convinced him to come to karaoke night, with the firm promise he would not attempt to make him sing. He was just trying to get him out of his house, away from his computers and cameras, out of the weight of Mr Jones’s stalking malevolence, out from under his family.

He felt something in his stomach, seeing Michael laughing with their friends. Maria was probably tending bar. Alex would usually have gone dancing with Maria over Kyle if it had been an option; she had this light-hearted style and ebullient grin she brought to every place she kicked up her heels.

Forrest was on a long trip and they’d parted as friends; Maria and Michael had been broken up for 6 months. It was — maybe a good time. To try. He and Michael still hadn’t quite figured out how to climb the barriers of history and pained misunderstandings that rose between them like a seamount, like an underwater continental shelf. He’d said he didn’t want to keep score, but the thing was, they’d both done wrong, and hurt just didn’t go away because you wanted it to.

He had this thought that maybe it would be easier for them to start fresh if they used a blank slate, tabula rasa. As he watched Liz and Isobel and Max and Michael show their IDs to the bouncer and walk towards the entrance, a plan began to form.

“You have any goals for tonight?” Kyle asked, voice light.

Alex shook his head, eyes following Michael into the club. "You?"

Kyle gave him a dubious look, but replied anyway: “I was planning on dancing, seeing if I can tease Max into shimmying with me for one song, generally enjoying myself, then taking a Lyft home.”

Alex thought he caught the shape of Michael through the tinted window, leaning over the bar; God, those jeans were tight.

The line to the bouncer moved quickly, so by the time he and Kyle made it in and split up — Kyle to go and check-in with some of his friends from the hospital and Alex to get their drinks — Michael was still at the bar.

Alex took a breath so deep he felt his belly move with it. He sidled up beside Michael. He put a light hand on his shoulder and Michael whipped around, a challenge in his eyes before confusion overwhelmed.

“Alex — what are you — I didn’t know you’d be here —”

Alex got the words out in a rush: “Do you want to play stranger?”

Michael paused, leaning in like he hadn’t heard, but Alex knew he had, the DJ wasn’t playing much music yet.

Alex swallowed, tried to explain: “Just here, just tonight. As an experiment. To get some data.”

Michael’s voice was low, just between the two of them: “‘Play stranger’ — like in San Antonio?”

The words went right through Alex. He hadn’t known if he’d remembered.

_There, they’d been out at a queer bar, taking a break from their sexcapades in the motel room while Alex was on leave, when a member of Alex’s unit approached them, wanted to come share a drink with them. Alex had whispered: “Can we play strangers?”_

_It was 2012 and Michael had understood._

“Just like in Vegas,” Alex replied, a little bit of hardness in his tone.

_Because Alex hadn’t been the only one to ask them to play stranger. Michael and Alex had both gotten invited to Isobel’s wedding in 2014. They’d been on the outs, but Michael hadn’t wanted to cause a scene or acknowledge there might be any problem with them being seated at the same singles table, so Michael had asked him to play stranger there too._

“What are the parameters?” Michael murmured.

“Whatever we want them to be,” Alex replied. Then: “Just, two single guys at the only queer club for a hundred miles, out with their friends —“

Michael looked around: “Who’d you come with?”

"Since it didn't work out with Forrest," Alex said, and there was no surprise in Michael's eyes. Alex expected that news had traveled to Michael at speeds not seen in Roswell since the crash. Alex continued: “Kyle convinced me to come out and listen to his best take on Halsey for karaoke night.”

“Oh, _God_.” Michael said. “Liz is here for her Selena, Max to cheer; God only knows what Iz is going to do.” The bartender brought Michael a tray of drinks for his table and took Alex’s order.

When they turned away, Alex asked: “You’re not singing?”

Michael fixed him with a level stare. “I don’t think a stranger would know to ask that.”

“You’re right,” Alex said, backtracking.

Michael held his gaze for a long moment: “I’m going to bring the drinks to my table. We can start as soon as I walk away." But,” he put his hand on Alex’s hip, thumb just inside his belt loop, “you know we don’t have to be strangers for me to be interested, right?”

It felt like watching Michael level mountains, build an impossible bridge between them.

Alex nodded, voice catching: “Yeah, me either. I just,” and he couldn’t think how to say it.

Michael tried: “It might be nice to see what it’s like, without some of the baggage?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, relieved. He tried a smile: “You always know what I’m thinking.”

“Not always.” Michael said with a curious look. He took a draft off his Coors and walked to Isobel’s table.

So.

Strangers.

He just a guy, out with friends, looking out for someone to talk to. Maybe to touch some.

Simple.

—

They both took it slow, watching the other move through the room.

Michael danced to a half-a-dozen songs with Liz and Max and Kyle got in his shimmy. Liz sang her best Selena as Max stared from the front row and was the first to clap; Isobel peaced out around 10pm after singing a surprisingly on-point Sam Smith. Kyle performed an unexpectedly heated rendition of “Control” before calling it a night. Liz and Max headed for the door with their hands in each other’s back pockets.

Alex had danced a little bit with Kyle and Isobel, warmed a stool in the corner. Caught Michael’s eyes sometimes. It was a couple pleasant hours being out, in the loud and anonymous comfort of a shared space. The entertainment ended about 11:30pm. The bar stayed open until 12:30am, but it was quiet house music, some slow dancing music. All the regulars moved to the bar, leaving the booths empty — except for Michael, who snagged a two-person booth in the corner. He was honoring maybe his second or third beer of the night, eyes on the nature documentary someone had set to run on the TVs on stage.

Alex got a Coors and headed over.

“This seat taken?” He said and Michael nearly rolled his eyes at the line before his face cooled down a little bit.

He looked Alex up and down, letting appreciation settle in his eyes.

“Free as in beer,” he said, voice forcedly light.

“You mind?” Alex asked.

Michael waved him in, voice low: “I saw you watching me. I was wondering when you’d get the courage up to come talk.”

“Oh, it doesn’t take any courage to come talk to someone as pretty as you. I was just waiting to see if that tall thing with the glowery face or the pretty blond one were yours.”

“Blegh, gross." Michael said making a disgusted cat face. "No. Those are my siblings.”

Alex took a sip of his beer as he sat. “You come here often?”

“No,” Michael said, setting his hand palm-up on the formica between them.

Alex stretched his arm over the low leather wall of the booth behind Michael’s head, just barely not touching Michael’s curls.

"You work around here?"

“I work on a ranch, about a half an hour out of town.”

“Yeah?” Alex said. “What’s that like?”

“What, you never worked with your hands?”

“Oh, I’m pretty good with my hands,” Alex said, suppressing a laugh, keeping it in his chest. “I’m just curious about meeting a real life cowboy.”

“Well,” Michael said, voice hushed. “I like the work. The chance to use my body, tire it out, earn some sleep.”

Alex thought about a suggestive comment about sleeping, but kept it to himself.

Michael asked: “What about you? What do you do for a living?”

“Oh,” Alex said, leaning forward, “I make custom guitars.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Alex gently trailed his fingers through the ends of Michael’s curls. Michael closed his eyes with a shudder far stronger than the sensation could have produced.

“Wait.”

Alex paused, trying to give him space to speak.

Michael rasped: “My last boyfriend,” he said, voice unsure on the word, “he used to do that.”

Alex pulled his hand back: “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Michael said. “I like it. I just —“

There was almost a tremor in his jaw. Alex was sure this had been a huge fucking mistake. They wouldn’t be able to swim to each other across this strait, with all the sharks they’d bred and fed and kept, not with all the blood in the water.

Then Michael said: “I just miss him a lot, you know? There was a long time that I would miss him, then I’d see him, and he’d leave.” He leaned his head back against Alex’s fingers, so he could either poke him in the skull or resume stroking. Alex began to coax his fingers through his curls. Michael kept going: “It wasn’t fair. My life was all twisted up around him and my friends and my family and being left — anyway. It’s kinda nice to talk about it with somebody who doesn’t have any stake in it.”

“Your boyfriend sounds kind of like an asshole,” Alex said, fingers still moving. “Who’d leave a pretty thing like you?”

Michael closed his eyes. “I made it easy for him. Any way I could. I knew he was going to leave anyway. He _sucked_ at leaving. He’d overstay, he’d miss his flight, run his car down so he didn’t have any gas so I’d have to give him a ride to the airport. So after the first couple times — you know those movies where somebody has to make their beloved dog leave them? And they scream and shout and throw things until they won’t come back?”

Alex laughed in disbelief: “Your old boyfriend was like Lassie?”

“Only the good parts.”

“The ability to find Timmy in a well?”

Michael's voice was sure: “Unconditional love." He took a breath: "He didn’t say it, but I knew it was there. Anyway. No way to meet a new guy, talking about the last one.” Michael leaned forward, Alex’s hand staying close to his nape, running his fingers through his curls. Michael put his elbow on the table, settling his chin into his palm.

“What about you? Any old flames I should keep my eyes open for?”

“Dated a guy recently, less a flame, maybe like an ember? Good guy, just never really clicked.” He traced his free pinky down the side of Michael’s hand, over his wrist, before settling his palm against Michael’s elbow where it met the table. “There _was_ this one.”

“Yeah?” Michael said, leaning towards him a little, curls slipping into his eyes.

“Yeah.” Alex traced his hand back up his forearm. He slipped his finger around one of Michael’s ringlets, pulling it out and letting it bounce back. “Beautiful curls, great smile, real good to his family. Habit of laying himself on any grenade that might come near just about anybody in his life.”

“That’s not a really good trait.”

“No,” Alex said, stroking his hair again. “You know how when you love somebody, you don’t just love the parts that they’re proud of, or the parts even that are good for them, you love all of it? Like, you hope that they get better, you hope that they get happier, and that’s all good. But you love the wrong things too?”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “I know what you’re saying.”

“Anyway,” Alex said. “It’s going to sound a little dark, but some bad stuff happened to me a while ago. And I was in a situation I couldn’t get out of. And he came looking for me. And he went up against the two people in the world who’d hurt me the most. And, the thing is,” and he nudged himself a little bit closer to Michael. “And I’m pretty sure he’d known this, but I grew-up a little paranoid about my space, growing-up how I did. And my house has cameras and audio — I’d turn it off if you were to come by, don’t worry —“

“You don’t have to,” Michael said, “I’m not shy.”

Alex smiled. “Yeah. But, anyway, he gets me out of this situation. He gets me free as in liberty as opposed to free as in beer. And,” Alex swallowed. “He had to do some things to find me, some things he didn’t feel great about. Didn’t seem to, months later. And I was trying to figure out what had happened. Because, when he found me, he was relieved. But it was still hanging heavy around his neck, what he'd done. Still rough water, unsettled stone between us. So I went back and watched the tapes. And you know what he said?”

Michael’s eyes were big, shoulders tightening. “'The tapes'?”

“Like I said, I had these cameras and microphones in my house. He fought my brother — that wasn’t at my house, I just know about it from him. But he fought my Dad and when he had him down on the ground he said,” Alex could feel his jaw wobbling a little bit. “He said that I had outgrown him. That I was better than him. He said I was better than my Dad, and I’ll take that every day of the week and twice on Sunday. But he said I’d outgrown him and I didn’t,” he blinked hard for a moment, “I don’t know what to think of that. Because I don’t — I don’t want to be the kind of person who outgrows the people that I love. I don’t really think I’m better than him or any of my friends. I just,” he paused.

He tried to say it right, to tell the truth, not just what he wanted to be true: “He and I have different approaches to the people who’ve hurt us. Different amounts of, contact. He was able, for good reasons and bad, to pretty much separate himself from almost everybody who ever hurt him; but I was in regular, sometimes daily contact with those people. And I didn’t really separate on the schedule he thought I was going to. I thought I already had, but I was as mixed-up in their bullshit as ever. And I was trying to handle that, and there was a lot of pressure and a lot of twisted-up weirdness about it. And before I watched the tapes, I thought he was _pissed_ at me. He _said_ he was pissed at me. He said he thought I was _stupid_.”

Michael looked like he wanted to say something but was trying to let Alex finish, body still so close to his even as Alex wasn't sure if he was breathing.

“Anyway. I said some stuff I didn’t mean to," he paused. "I was a royal and complete asshole to him." He took a breath: "but after that, on that tape, he said that I’d outgrown him and it just,” he took a long moment, trying to find the words. “It hurt. It hurt like getting shot — like watching someone else get shot. Like watching all this hope I’d tied up in our relationship get shot. And I just,” he took a breath, “I’ve been trying to figure out how to breathe around that.”

Michael's voice was tight, tense: “When did you watch those tapes?”

“Oh,” Alex said, “about yesterday.”

“And when this bad thing happen?”

“Oh, about six months ago.”

“You ever think maybe he was going through a hard day too, he said some stuff he didn’t necessarily mean?”

Alex shook his head. “There’s more. I have to take the bad with the good.”

“He said something else?”

“He said that, in spite of everything I’d been through, I could still love. And that was," Alex looked down at the table. "It seemed like that was something he liked about me.”

“Yeah,” Michael said, uncoiling a little, reaching his hand out and tracing his fingertips down the side of Alex’s face. “I bet he said that. I’ve only known you for half-an-hour and I like you just fine. You seem like a good egg.”

Alex snorted. “Yeah, you think so?”

“You drink Coors, you can’t be all bad.”

“I just bought the same thing you were drinking, so we’d have something to talk about.”

“Wily and conniving; sounds like my kind of guy.”

“Yeah?” Alex said. Michael had, at some point in this, tucked his shoulder under Alex’s arm; they were pressed so close, there was a long line of connection from their knees, to their hips to their sides; Alex’s fingers were still in his hair,

Slow as breathing, Michael lifted up his foot and tucked it behind Alex’s left ankle. And it was silly, but it was one of Alex’s favorite things. One of the things they’d always been able to do, even if they were out in public. Almost like holding hands.

“Yeah.” Michael murmured. “My guy's like that. Guess I’m still kinda hung-up on him still."

“So,” Alex said, biting his lip. “That gets us to the big question, if this guy is so wonderful, and you’re still so hung-up on him, what’re you doing out at Planet 7 at 12:05am on a Friday, with Brianna staring us down to _git_ so she can get to closing?”

Michael frowned a little, smoothing the condensation down the bottle into a little puddle. Then he spoke carefully, placing each word like a drystone slab going across a raging river. “Well,” he said, “until about an hour ago, I thought,” he took a breath, “I thought he moved on. I was twisted up about that. But I was trying. I have my friends. And I’ve got my family. And I still see him sometimes.”

“Oof,” Alex said. “Working with an ex, that’s hard.”

“It’s worse when you don’t want them to be an ex.”

“I can see that.”

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Sounds like you still feel something for this old boyfriend.”

Alex paused. He didn’t want to navigate this wrong, this game they were playing, he really liked the space they’d given themselves. “I think,” he said. “Yeah, I do. But I thought he’d moved on too. So, same thing, out with my friends, trying to get back into practice. So if things line up again, I’d maybe be able to take him on a real date.”

“What does ‘a real date’ look like? I don't know if I've ever been on one of those with my guy.”

“Oh, me either, you know as well as I do.”

“Well,” Michael said, arching his neck into Alex’s fingers a little bit until he started toying with his hair again. “So, your guy, I think, if I had to guess, what he really wants," he closed his eyes, stealing himself, "at the bottom of his twisted-up heart, is to know you’ll be there in the morning. To know you’re not ashamed of him.” He swallowed, seeming to try to keep his voice steady. “I could see if, you’d left that many times, if he’d given you reason to leave that many times, he may have come to some mistaken impressions about what you think about him. So you could _tell_ him what you think; you could really just show him too.”

“Yeah?” Alex asked, heart beating a little faster. “What would that look like?”

“A ring is an easy one,” Michael said, “But not for a bit.” He took a breath. “It could be something easy. Going out to breakfast with all of your friends and holding hands on the table. It could be getting to know his hobbies? Not scary life-and-death stuff, but you know, maybe he plays guitar. Maybe he's started teaching riding lessons on the weekends to rich kids who need a little bit of discipline and a chance to be away from their tut-tuting parents.” He tilted his head. “What about you? What would be the best date you could think of with this guy?”

“Oh,” Alex said with a hum. “Other than sex? Because he’s _really_ good at sex.”

Michael cracked up. “Yeah, probably other than sex, given that it sounds that’s not what you need from each other.”

“I mean, I definitely need the sex.” Alex said. “Unless he didn’t want to. But I don’t see that happening. But for a date?” He took a breath. “Um, I think he needs to understand what a mess I am. I think sometimes he thinks I’m so much more together, have so much more figured out than I do? So, for a date, maybe him, going with me to the doctor’s appointment, someplace public where I need to rely on him.” Alex closed his eyes, and his voice came out a hoarse. “Because he’s _so reliable_. And I know, I can’t imagine me at 17, saying that in that tone. But, God, you live out in the world long enough, you get used to people who aren’t reliable. And then you meet someone who shows up when they need to. Who does what they say. Who doesn’t lie, and you just — you just want to hold onto them and never let them go.”

Michael blinked. Then blinked again, his voice quiet: “You really like that stuff? That ‘honesty for its own sake’ stuff? I thought, I would have thought that was part of how he was pushing you away.”

“I love it,” Alex said, meeting and holding his eyes. “Doesn’t mean it’s not a pain in the ass sometimes, but,” he broke eye-contact, looked up at the ceiling. “I had a lot of people lying to me my whole life. About what I was. What I wasn’t. A lot of gaslighting. But interacting with someone who’s absolutely direct? That’s — that’s medicine.”

“Oh,” Michael said, voice rough. “I mean,” he paused. “That’s good to hear. I thought that was one of the bad things, that you might like about him in spite of.”

“It’s one of the best things.”

Alex felt Michael slide a little closer to him, body soft in his arms and for a long moment, he just held onto him, wrapped up around him, enjoying the soft, warm comfort of his body against his. Then Michael took a breath, shifting under his arm. “Last call’s going to be in a minute, you want anything?”

“Did you drive?”

“My truck’s out back. I’d planned to sleep it off a little but,” he looked at his half-full bottle. “Honestly, I’m stone cold sober.”

“Me too,” Alex said. “I took a Lyft with my friend.” He paused, looked down. “You want to go someplace?”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, lying as quick as he could, “I’ve got a hotel room. Since I’m a traveling custom guitar maker.” Michael didn't say anything. Feeling it slipping away, Alex tried again. “You could come back to mine —“

“With all your cameras?”

“I can turn them off.”

Michael took a long breath, meeting his eyes. “And where are you going to be tomorrow morning?”

He grinned, because for _once_ , for _finally_ , he knew the right answer. He laid his hand on the table between them, holding it still. After a long, long moment, Michael raised his hand between them, carefully settling his fingers between each of Alex's. Only when every piece of their hands was touching that could be, Alex closed his fingers around Michael's and Michael did the same. He could feel the bartender's eyes on them, and for once, it felt like a shield, a bridge, something he could do for Michael and for himself. His voice was low and quiet when he said answered Michael's question: “Wherever you are, cowboy. If you'll have me.”

Michael smiled, pressing his face into the side of Alex's neck. "Sounds like a plan, stranger."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are life! I was thinking of having a second chapter that's them in the hotel room -- is there interest in that? <3 It'll probably be after election day.


End file.
